THE CHRISTMAS-TREE.
Winter in the mountains! When Persis awoke on Christmas-morning she
looked out upon a white world, and the feathery flakes were still
drifting down. “How beautiful!” she exclaimed.
But just then came the soft clamor of small hands patting on her door;
and little voices cried, “Merry Christmas, Miss Anne! Hurry down and see
our Christmas-tree.”
Then came Columbus’s mellow, “Chris’mus gif, Miss Anne! Is yo’ fiah
bu’nin’ all right? Hyah’s yo’ hot watah.”
“The fire is fine,” Persis answered. “I’ll be down directly. Merry
Christmas, little folks!”
The children danced around outside her door until she opened it, and
then she saw Columbus sitting on the top step with the baby, wrapped in
a blanket, in his arms, while the others were battering their heels
against the floor.
“Here she is!” came a chorus. And, attended by these satellites, Persis
descended the stairs.
The little pile of gifts by her plate seemed very paltry compared with
her usual fine array; but she was grateful for these, for she had
expected not so much as a penny’s worth. These were only trifles, but
they expressed much,—the white aprons from Mrs. Temple, the carefully
hemmed handkerchief from little Mattie, the balsam pillow from one of
her older pupils, and last, but not least, a remarkable necktie over
which poor Columbus had toiled, and for which he had reserved his
choicest piece of satin. This brought the tears to her eyes.
But the rapture with which Columbus received his new doll, with her
chestnut locks and blue eyes, showed him to be quite the happiest person
in the house; and he went off to the kitchen holding his treasure
gingerly, but with his big adoring eyes so fixed upon it that it was as
much as he could do to walk straight.
“Don’t you look so much at that doll that you can’t bake any cakes for
us, Columbus,” called Mrs. Temple after him. “You’d better get that
griddle going pretty quick, or we’ll keep that doll in here.”
That was sufficient warning for Columbus. “‘Deed an’ ‘deed, Miss Marth’,
I ain’t gwine cas’ my eyes to’ds her twel de cakes is bake,” he replied,
fervently; and the promptness with which he supplied the table bore out
his resolution.
“You have made Columbus more your slave than ever,” Mrs. Temple said,
laughing. “I’m afraid he will have eyes for nothing but the doll
to-day.” But a few decided conditions established only spurred Columbus
up to do his work properly, and the way he flew around proved that
happiness is a great promoter of industry.
About noon Dr. Rivers’s sleigh came dashing up to the door, and the
doctor, well muffled up, came stamping in. The snow had ceased to fall,
but not before it had made good sleighing. “I’ve come to carry off Miss
Anne,” he announced to Mrs. Temple.
“Indeed, then, doctor, you’ll not. She’s going to eat Christmas-dinner
with us. Have I been fattening up my biggest turkey for you all to come
and carry off my only guest? You can’t do it. Here she is. Let her speak
for herself. Miss Anne, are you going to desert us to-day?”
“Why, no. Who says so?”
“The doctor.”
Persis turned inquiringly to where the doctor stood slapping his big fur
mittens together.
“You see, Miss Anne, our boy is home from college. You haven’t met him,
and we want a sort of jollification for him. Some of the young folks
will be in this evening, and my wife sent word that you must come and
stay all night. It’s holiday-time, you know.”
“Oh, but doctor, I can’t, I’m afraid. You see, I have fixed up a
Christmas-tree for the school children. Some of them, poor little souls,
never saw one. These mountaineers, many of them, never make any account
of Christmas, if they ever even heard of it. Of course, I can’t do much,
but I have some little bags of candies and some cheap toys for them. I’m
afraid, however, that the snow will keep some of them away.”
“Don’t you believe it,” the doctor replied. “They’ll come, every
mother’s son of them.” He looked at her sharply, and then he added,
“Miss Anne, do you know you’re the first teacher who ever thought of
doing such a thing for that school. Heretofore the teachers have seemed
to be more eager for a holiday than the scholars, and have turned the
key in the door of the school-house as early as the law allowed, and
shut out any thought of it till they had to return.”
Persis smiled. “Then I’m glad I’ve established a precedent; but you see,
doctor, I couldn’t disappoint them.”
“I do, indeed, see. Will you let me come?”
“It is a trustee’s privilege, I believe, to visit the school whenever he
may wish,” returned Persis, demurely.
“Then I’ll stop by, and take you up there, and you can go home with me
after your performance is over. What time shall you begin?”
“At two o’clock; but I shall go over as soon as we have finished
dinner.”
“Then I’m afraid I shall not be able to do more than be on hand at the
last minute.”
“Columbus can drive her and Mattie up there,” Mrs. Temple spoke up.
“Oh, but Mrs. Temple, that will interfere with his work. He will not be
through with his dishes,” Persis expostulated.
“Never mind. I’ve got old Ginny in the kitchen to-day. Columbus can be
spared as well as not.” And to Columbus’s great joy, it was so arranged,
and the little festival at the school-house was made ready for its
guests.
It was cold as Greenland, but Persis found a huge fire already blazing
in the stove. Some one had seen to it that the teacher should not be
nipped by Jack Frost. The oldest of the boys were expectantly waiting
outside when the sleigh, driven by Columbus, came up.
“Miss Anne! Miss Anne!” they shouted. “Here she is! Help her out, Josh.
Come in, Miss Anne. Merry Christmas, miss! Here, Columbus, fetch along
that fur robe.”
“No, no!” Persis remonstrated. “Put that over the horse; he’ll freeze to
death in that little cold shed. Make him good and comfortable, Columbus.
I shouldn’t be happy, boys, if I knew a horse was shivering outside
here. My, what a roaring fire! Why, Josh, what is that?”
“It’s a pair of kind of fur shoes to put on over your others on cold
days, and when you all go out sleigh-riding, Miss Anne.”
“And you made them for me? Why, how clever you are! Aren’t they warm?
They are like moccasins, only warmer. Here, Columbus, put them on for
me. Why, they are fine. How did you know what size to make them? Thank
you very much, Josh. I never had a Christmas-gift like this before.”
Josh, in clumsy expression of delight, shuffled from one foot to the
other, the other boys looking on enviously. Persis’s heart warmed
towards these uncouth sons of still more uncouth mountaineers, so
grateful for the little grace and love she had given them.
“Come, boys, let’s get up the greens,” she said. “There, see how pretty
we can make it. That bunch of red berries in the pitcher on my desk.
Doesn’t the tree stand nice and straight? We’ll have to hurry to get it
ready; the bags first; now the strings of pop-corn. Can you fasten on
the candles? Not too close together. There, we have it.” And ordering,
encouraging, appreciating the work, Persis was the controlling spirit.
The boys gazed in open-eyed admiration. The last candle was hardly made
secure before the jingle of bells and the stamping of feet announced the
approach of the partakers in the festivities, and, what with parents and
children, Persis thought she could hardly find room for them, but at
last she managed.
There was not much time to be wasted in exercises. Only a Christmas
carol or two; the story of the first Christmas told in the simplest way,
another carol, and then the tree was lighted and the gifts were
distributed.
Such eager children, such wonder and delight, gave Persis a thrill of
something between pleasure and pity. “Oh! oh!” came in subdued
exclamations, and on every one of the rough faces of men gathered in the
corners was a pleased smile.
Dr. Rivers, by the door, took it all in, and as the hearty voices
shouted, “Hark the herald angels sing,” he made his way towards the
teacher standing in among the wreaths of green.
Every one knew Dr. Rivers. He had watched by many a sick bed, eased many
a pain for those present, and when he spoke they all listened. It was
only a Christmas greeting he gave them, the desire to do so born of
Persis’s little effort, but it warmed the hearts of all of them, and
they went off, having gone a step nearer to a knowledge of what
Christmas might mean.
Persis had worn her prettiest frock, partly because of the doctor’s
coming jollification, and partly because she felt it would give pleasure
to her pupils. She had a bunch of red berries in her belt, and a few
were tucked in her black hair. The doctor thought he had never seen her
look so well. She was lifted out of herself. The doing for others had,
for the time being, made her own troubles take a place in the
background. “She’s a dear, good girl, whatever any one says,” thought
the doctor.
“What a judicial expression,” she interrupted his cogitations by saying,
as she noticed his steadfast regard of her. “I’m afraid you’re very
critical, doctor, and haven’t quite approved of my little parade.”
“My dear girl,”—the doctor pronounced it “gyurl,”—“I never approved more
heartily of anything in my life. I wish a dozen more I could mention had
been here.”
“I am so glad you do feel so, and I thank you so much for your little
address. It was just what was needed for a climax. This has really made
me have a very happy day, and I dreaded it more than I can tell you.”
“The Christmas spirit,” said the doctor, slowly, “is not that which
gives what is not of ourselves.”
Persis looked up. She had not heard the doctor say such a thing before.
He was wont to show rather a mocking, sarcastic side.
“That is what grandma says,” replied she, forgetting where she was. Then
she bit her lip, and flushed up. She went on hurriedly. “I know what you
mean, doctor. We must give of ourselves or else it is not a gift. Do you
know, I have had two or three presents to-day which have touched me to
the very heart? They represent loving sacrifice, and mean more than
dozens of elegant presents I have had bestowed upon me in times gone
by.” And then she told him of the fur shoes and the necktie. “Josh is
one of my very best scholars,” she went on to say. “He has a very
receptive mind, and is so deeply and tenderly interested in animals. I
try to make my boys, and girls, too, develop a care for dumb creatures.
I found Josh one day with a little bird whose leg was broken. He had
splinted it nicely and took the little thing home, where it got entirely
well. I have great hopes for Josh, and my children here are teaching me
true values,” she concluded, soberly. They had been standing in the
empty school-house, but Persis was soon snuggled down under the robes in
the doctor’s sleigh, and they were driving at a spanking pace towards
the village.
“We must get up a sleighing party while my boy is here,” said the
doctor. “I speak for your being one of it, Miss Anne. You’ve no excuse
now that there is no school to use up your vitality. We have not
insisted before on your joining our frolics in the village, because you
did have that excuse.” The doctor was always head and front in any
social event. Any sort of festivity without his presence would have
seemed lacking its principal guest.
“I think I can promise to be one of a sleighing party,” replied Persis,
“if I can depend upon you and Mrs. Rivers for my companions.”
“Now, is that flattery, or a distinct desire for our company?” asked the
doctor.
“It is the latter.”
“I know one or two boys who will jump at the chance of escorting you.
Indeed, I had thought my son might be the accepted swain on that
occasion.”
“But I haven’t seen him,” laughed Persis. “And even as it is, I am
willing to give his parents the preference.”
“Wait till you do see him. I’ll not make any promise till then.” The
doctor was very proud of this big son, the child of his old age; for Dr.
Rivers had not married young, and the two fair daughters born to him had
died in early youth. It was ten years later that a boy made glad the
hearts of the desolate couple, and he was their idol.
A tall, handsome fellow was this Pendleton Rivers, who ran down the
steps as Persis and the doctor stopped before the gate. He had been very
eager to see this new teacher, around whom a halo of mystery and romance
clung, and he was disposed to be very attentive to her.
It had grown quite dark by this time, and he could not very well see the
girl, hooded, veiled, and generally bundled up from the cold; but once
she had laid aside her wraps, and stood with her cheeks rosy from the
frosty air, she looked very like the old Persis, and Pen regarded her
admiringly, at the same time feeling that her face was a familiar one.
“Where have I seen the girl before?” he asked himself.
A little later on Persis herself felt a fear of recognition. “I never
thought to ask which is your college, Mr. Rivers?” she said. “I suppose,
of course, it is the University of Virginia or William and Mary?”
“No; I am a Johns Hopkins man. This is my junior year.”
And Persis felt her hands grow cold. A classmate of Walter Dixon’s, of
Rob Maxfield’s, and half a dozen boys that she knew. And she quickly
changed the subject to matters relating strictly to Virginia soil.
But after supper came another season of anxiety. It was before guests
had arrived, and while the doctor and his son were talking over college
affairs. As boys will do, Pen was recounting his little escapades. The
doctor was enjoying his boy’s visit hugely, Persis could see. He rubbed
his hands as Pen told of a recent exploit. “That reminds me of my old
days in Baltimore, when Walt Dixon and I were chums. Have you come
across him, by the way?”
“Who, the doctor? Why, yes; his son turns out to be a college-mate of
mine, and we never knew it till this year. Dr. Dixon is fine—fine as
silk, and Walter is a chip of the old block. They say he’s engaged to
that Miss Steuart who lives at the Dixon’s. Dr. Dixon is her guardian,
or something.”
Persis clasped her hands nervously. “What a small world, after all!
Connie and Walter! to hear of them in this out-of-the-way place!” She
leaned forward with parted lips.
“Nice girl, is she?” queried the doctor.
“Yes, a real jolly girl. Not exactly pretty, but just the jolliest sort,
kind and thoughtful, and bright as a button. I believe the Dixons like
her immensely. I was there a few nights ago. There was a Miss Peters
there, from Virginia originally, and a Mr. Phillips, a young student
from the Quaker City.”
The blood surged up into Persis’s face, and then left it pale as a
ghost’s. The doctor was watching her, but she was not aware of it. “What
Peters family is that?” he asked. “Any kin of old Tom’s?”
“I don’t know, sir. I think the same family, probably. I liked young
Phillips. He told me he spent some time at the Bridge last summer, and
praised it quite enough to suit even a Virginian.”
Poor Persis! a small world, after all, it was, indeed. Questions which
she dared not utter crowded to her lips, but she overcame the temptation
to ask what she so desired, and changed her seat from the chair by the
table to a low stool near the open fire, where, screening her face with
her hand, she listened for what might come next.
“I’d like to have the Dixons down here. Pity you hadn’t found them out
sooner. I had lost track of them entirely for the past few years. I’m
glad you’ve come across them.”
“You see, Walter and I are in different departments,” Pen explained. “He
is studying electrical engineering, and I’m in the classical course, so
we didn’t happen to meet till the latter part of last year, and then I
somehow didn’t associate the name with your chum. This year, however,
we’ve often met in the gym, and one day found out that our fathers were
old friends; since then we’ve been very chummy. You never met Mrs.
Dixon, did you, mother?” turning to Mrs. Rivers.
“No; but I have met the doctor. Did you say that the son was down this
way last summer?”
“Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he was; but I spoke of young Phillips.
There was quite a party of them making a trip through Virginia, and from
what they said they must have had a jolly good time.”
“Too bad, too bad,” the doctor repeated. “To think they were within such
a short distance, and we didn’t know it.” His hospitable instincts were
quite outraged. “Well, well, we’ll not let them go to a hotel next time,
will we Becky?”
“Indeed, we will not; but Miss Anne must think us very rude, doctor, to
be talking about people she never heard of. Here we’ve brought her and
made her sit in a corner to listen to this boy’s talk. Come, Miss Anne,
we want to hear about that frolic at the school-house. Doctor, tell us
about it; Miss Anne is too modest to praise it properly.”
The doctor launched out into a humorous account, and Persis added some
funny descriptions of her company; of how one of the children had never
seen a Christmas-tree, and set up a scream when the first candle was
lighted, thinking the tree was on fire. And so the talk went on till a
smart rapping came at the door, and a dozen young people flocked in.
Persis had nimble fingers for dance music, and had hoped to fill the
office of musician; but she had only played two or three tunes when
there arrived an old darky fiddler, and so there was no escape for the
“teacher,” who soon found herself floating off in a dreamy waltz, which
the old man played with an ecstatic throwing back of his head and a
gentle pat of his long, flat foot.
Pen Rivers found his partner so good a dancer that he claimed her again
and again; and she, who had always enjoyed nothing more, gave herself up
to the pleasure, although, had she known of certain developments which
would result, she would have been less ready to dance with Pen Rivers.
[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’]